Bane (Sinners of Saint #4)(45)

“Thtick to the plan if you want to get the retht of the money. It’th not yourth yet.”

“It is mine,” I gritted out.

“What’s yours?” a small voice chirped from the doorway. Both our gazes darted toward the door. Snowflake was there, looking thoroughly-orgasmed and oh-so-pissed.

Sonovofuckingbitch.





THIRTY SECONDS.

I forced myself to stare back in the mirror after making myself come.

The first time I’d come since before The Incident.

The first time I’d masturbated since that night.

At first, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to at all. It wasn’t that I was not attracted to men, because I was. But it was in the same way you admired paintings and sculptures: from afar, knowing they were heartless, soulless, not to have, and definitely not to hold. As I propped my butt against the sink and spread my legs, however, the surge of heat and excitement I’d felt before The Incident came crashing into my body like a wave. I pushed my lips apart, looking down at my clit.

Swollen, throbbing, begging.

It’s been a long time. Touch me.

I did, but it didn’t feel as good as Bane’s thigh. His body was rough and callused, lithe, and male. My fingers didn’t hold a candle to his strong leg. Frustrated, I pulled a towel from the steam cabinet and dumped it across the bathtub edge. I hoisted one leg and straddled it, riding the edge like it was a mechanical bull.

I closed my eyes, imagining Bane.

The hard planes of muscles under his thin over-washed Billabong shirt.

His rough fingers finding my clit. Big, dirty, and inky.

His cinnamon breath and ocean scent as my thighs straddled his bearded face while I rode his mouth, my juices dripping down his chin. I moaned, squeezing my thighs against the bathtub, biting my arm to stifle my little yelps of joy—sheer, newfound bliss—as the first flood of pleasure washed my inhibitions and anxiety away. I was coming. Feeling. Falling. Breaking the chains of misery that anchored me down.

It wasn’t about my physical needs. Not all of it, anyway. It was about taking my power back. It was about reconquering my sexuality, a piece of land that had always belonged to no one else but me.

It was about finding my way back to the world.

I nearly skipped my way back to my room after washing my face and hands. Darren was still there, and that surprised me, because he usually barely had the guts to knock, let alone step inside.

“It’s mine,” Bane said conversationally, but his posture, tense and commanding, suggested that he was a breath away from tackling Darren.

“What’s yours?” I leaned against the door, folding my arms over my chest.

“The boutique hotel on the promenade. The one that’s being gutted,” Bane bit out, his voice manufactured and detached. His eyes were still hard on Darren, and the threat was there, stark clear and shining in his pupils. “Your stepdad has some very elaborate ideas of what I should do about it, even though I never asked for advice.”

Bane grabbed my hoodie from my bed and walked over to me, tossing it into my hands and looking back to my stepdad, who stood there, in the middle of my room, looking like a wounded soldier who’d come back home to find out that everything he knew and loved had been consumed in flames.

“Come on, Snowflake. Food, then we’ll take Old Sport for a walk.”

“Shadow is sleeping,” I muttered, still confused by the entire exchange.

“Dogs are always sleeping. We’ll wake him up.” He mussed my hair, like I was an adorable kid.

The way he touched me, so casually, as if it was okay, as if I was normal, made my heart skip several beats.

I stole one last look at Darren, trying to find the pity I had usually felt for him. His eyes were blank, his jaw tight.

Usually, looking at him losing another battle made my heart pinch.

This time it didn’t.





We didn’t talk about what had happened in my room.

Something told me that the minute I addressed it, it wouldn’t happen again, and that was a scenario I didn’t want to entertain. We put Shadow—who was looking slightly better—on a leash, then grabbed some pizza downtown. I ate two slices and whimpered at the first bite, surprised by how much flavor it had.

Then we sat in his rusty red truck and called Dr. Wiese’s office. The receptionist yawned a generic don’t-call-us-we’ll-call-you, adding that it’s been hectic at the clinic, so we might need to wait a few extra days. Then we dropped Old Sport back home and headed to the beach. Bane had promised Beck he’d surf with him, and I didn’t care what we did. The sky was dusky, and for the first time in a long time I felt liberated.

Liberated from the idea that Bane would think my “slut” scar was ugly.

Liberated from worrying about Shadow’s blood work.

There was a perfect moment on that beach, right after Bane introduced me to his friends, Beck—whom I’d already met at Café Diem—and Edie, a blonde surfer who was every insecure woman’s worst nightmare. Petite, pretty, and approachable. It was when they were paddling deep into the water while I settled against my backpack, drowning in the words of The Princess Bride. The feeling of solitude holding hands with intimacy. I was hanging out with Bane without really hanging out with him.

I looked up every now and again and smiled.